


Disgust

by grubwizard



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Cannibalism, Canon Divergence, Danse gets a boner for the worst things, M/M, Rough Sex, Violence, Wrestling, au where the sosu is from a cannibal cult in the mojave, danse literally gets his brains fucked out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2018-12-15 08:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grubwizard/pseuds/grubwizard
Summary: Danse hates many things about the leader of the Minutemen. The biggest one being that he's a brutal cannibal killer. Unfortunately he can't stop fantasizing about him.





	1. Cannibalism

“Find anything that one, Danse?”

“Just junk.”

“Aw. Oh well. Me neither. I already str-str-str-...” It was like the word got caught in the whirring gears in Grub’s brain. “This one’s ready. The others are no good. Mind helping?”

Danse just stared. He can’t believe he’s going to try to do this with him around. He’s heard of what the man does, but he has never been around for it.

“Help?”

“Yeah, I can’t get him to that rock --no-- tree over there without making a big ol’ m-mess.” Grub kicked the side of the raider’s caved-in head as if to make a point, pouring out some gobbets of wet red slime.

Danse watched him cave it in with nothing but a pair of brass knuckles. This raider’s body was the least damaged one out of five. Why couldn’t he just use a gun?

“No, I would really rather not take part in this” is what Danse wanted to say. Honestly? He was scared to say it, scared of what the other man could do to him. Instead, he lifted the dead man’s legs in response to Grub coming to the side and curling his arms under the torso. In this way Grub managed to avoid the mass of sludge and bits sliding out of the open skull as it was lifted. Some blood still splashed onto his boots, Danse noticed.

“I wanna hang ‘im up to dry so he’s easier to carry.”

Together they carried the corpse to the nearest tree. Grub tied a rope around its ankles, swung the other end over the lowest branch that looked strong enough, and pulled. Hand over hand, muscles visibly working. Soon enough the body was swinging, knuckles brushing over dust. The branch wasn’t quite high enough for it to go any higher.

Grub unsheathed his machete, the one he kept clean just for this job.

Danse turned his head away before he heard a THWACK, wet tearing, and splattering. It sounded like viscous churning. More sounds. Hacking, grinding and snapping, the weird wet sucking of meat separating. Danse couldn’t tell if it actually sounded that bad, or if it was just his mind making it worse.

“I’ll just let the take the am-animals take care of the innards. Don’t got a bucket or nothin’”

Grub bent back, hands on hips, blood smearing onto them, his spine cracking. Grub looked at him but didn’t meet his eyes. “You ok? You don’t look right.”

Danse felt fucking sick. But he wasn’t going to let Grub know that. He didn’t know him to be judgemental, but he wanted to keep it to himself. Especially if this were a touchy subject. He didn’t want to cross him. Even so, this was just wrong.

“I’m not… Used to field dressing.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not used to seeing field dressing.”

“Huh. Don’t teach that in the Army?”

Everything like the military is just the Army to him, isn’t it? Danse cringed inwardly.

Blood continued to spatter on the now soaked dirt, amplified by lingering silence.

“Gonna see what I can do about the others.”

Danse walks to a rock in the opposite direction that Grub is headed to sort through the loot they had gathered before.

Why did _he_ have to be the one to join him? He was happy to be left in Sanctuary. He generally just did not like Grub’s company. He was wrong in the head. His hands always moved. He never looked him in the eye. His speech was so jumbled it was hard to understand him half the time. He was from some freak cult. He had… Relations with _ghouls_ and God knows what else. To top that… What he does with the bodies...

Is this where all the meat in Sanctuary comes from?

He shot up, a pulse of ice through his veins. Did he eat--?

No… No way… They got shipments of meat from other settlements.

Are there other members of Grub’s cult -- he’s not supposed to call it a cult but damnit that’s what it is -- working in the other settlements? He said they’re all in the Mojave, but how much can he trust him?

There is no way to know what he’s eaten, is there?

He felt nauseous, fingers fumbling as he anxiously toyed with the switchblade he was holding at the time.

Should he ask?

Danse found himself getting up and creeping over to where Grub crouched over a body. Did he really want to know? God he didn’t. But his legs still carried him.

He was eating it. Raw. Nothing but a knife in his hand. Mouth red and wet, dripping between his thick thighs. Teeth plunging through meat, connective tissue being stretched, metal sawing through it. The sound of chewing and licking.

Danse stepped back.

Grub must have noticed, because he turned to look at him.

_Like I’m his next meal._

“Hmm?” Grub swallowed and wiped ineffectively at his mouth with the back of his hand.

He lost all courage to ask him anything.

“It’s going to get dark soon. We should set up camp.”

“Oh yeah. Sure.” His mouth was still full.

 

***

 

By sundown they had a fire built and sleeping mats rolled out. Grub stirred a pot full of tatoes that was supposed to be dinner.

“So, uh…” Danse started.

“Yeah?” It took a moment for the other man to respond.

“Why… Why do you eat the bodies?”

“Huh?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that cannibalism might be looked d-- seen as inappropriate here?”

“Well? What are you sus-supposed to do?”

“Bury them! Burn them! Give them a respectful funeral! Even just leaving them to rot would be better! This is disgusting!” He regretted his words as soon as they went past his lips. Grub turned to him with an incredulous look.

“Respectful? How is that respectful? Think-- Do you think-- think at all, dummy?” Grub drilled his finger into his temple. “Maybe if I buried them in the c-compost, maybe he could feed the plants, but I’ve seen y’all just burying people in shitty dirt! Nothing’s growing out here that’s useful! And! And you bury them too deep for even animals to get to! Disgusting! What the fuck would he do there in the dirt?”

“Rest in peace.”

“What kind of peace that is that, just rot- rotting there? You think this guy," He gestured to the body hung from the tree. "would rather be eaten by... Uh… Well, I don't know what's down there... I-I just don't think it's right! I... Hrm... I'm just giving him respect. I just wish we could carry all of them. It’s a waste."

 _Funny way of showing respect_ , Danse thought to himself. He would never say it at this point, of course. Not after his last outburst. That would just dig his hole deeper. Instead he just nodded like that made sense, what he was saying.

The night ended without much more talk. The two men went to bed at the same time, but Danse kept one eye open, watching Grub's back for as long as he could keep it open before sleep took him. Cannibal freak. He will not catch him off guard, no sir.

His mind kept flashing back to seeing him crouched over that raider. Lips dripping, hot and red. Blood pooled in his core. _Monster._

 

_***_

 

The next morning found him unharmed, to both his shock and expectation.

Soon they were heading out to head back home. On top of his pack Grub had the body in a fireman carry. Danse was forced to strap several cloth-wrapped limbs --what was salvageable of the other bodies that were beaten and shot to a bloody pulp-- to his own pack.

They were an hour into the hike before either of them spoke.

"So, uh... Why do they call you Grub?"

"Oh uh... Well... When it came time for giving me a name, I was really fat and pale. Like a big ol’ fat grub. Th-that's what they told me." Grub grinned at him, but, like always, wouldn't look him in the eye.

"When it was time to name you?"

"Yeah."

"No I mean... They name children at birth here; Sometimes even before that."

"Huh? A baby isn’t a pers-person yet and can’t have a name. And you g-get too close to them if they have a name. What do you do if they die early?"

"We mourn them like any other person."

"Huh. That seems like a lot of suffering for something that can’t be helped."

"You really did live under a rock, didn't you?"

"It was a cave. You should know that."

Being a literal fucking caveman might explain a few things.

Danse never gathered the courage to ask him where all the meat he had eaten came from.

 

***

 

Soon enough, they were back at Sanctuary. Grub was off to butcher and Danse stood guard at the bridge.

Danse thought a lot about Grub over that body, even though hie didn’t want to. That was the first time he had actually seen him eat another person. Like a wild dog he saw once.

How many people has he eaten? Blood and nausea pooled in his stomach, thinking of his teeth tearing apart another man’s flesh. Another man inside of him. He started to feel hot and out of sorts.

And how much human meat has he eaten himself? He’d like to think he could distinguish human from beef, but how true was that?

He swore two things to himself: One, that he would never venture out with Grub again, and two, that he would only eat meat he hunted himself from now on.

 

***

 

He was wrestling with Grub. He could feel his heat against his own, writhing against him. Strong muscles pushing against him, pulling him around. No matter what hold or lock he got on him, the larger man seemed to always be able to wriggle out or resist by brute force. Soon Grub had him on his belly, laying on top of him with arms and legs wrapped around on him with a leverage so that even if Grub were half his size he would not have been able to move. But Grub was much larger than him, and his weight pressed down on him hard, crushing his ribs. He could feel him stiff against the small of his back.

“I win.”

Grub turned him over. Hot, coarse hands pinned his arms down and his weight sat on his belly. He could see his erection now. His own shorts were tented as well.

“You know what that means.”

The larger man changed position so he could press his lips against his neck. Danse arched away to give him better access. He could feel his stubble rasp against his own, and it tickled. The air cooled the wet trail left behind by kisses and licks. Light nibbles edged their way across a collarbone. The attention sent electricity through his core.

The man kissed and bit his way back up and their lips finally met. It was wet and cool and hot and soft and rough all at once. His cock felt breeze as his shorts were pulled down, then hot again as Grub ground his bare cock down on him. Grub bit on his lower lip with gradually more pressure until Danse could taste copper. He let go only to lick the punctured skin. Grub took the both of them in his hand and built up a rhythm stroking them together.

“Please, I need you.” Danse said through bloody lips.

Grub rose to rest back on Danse’s thighs, still stroking and squeezing them together. Two fingers slipped inside his bitten lips, to which he responded by lathing their rough pads with his tongue. He would suck and swirl his tongue around them, lightly biting down on them. Grub moaned softly at this. When they slid out of his mouth his fingers were coated thickly with saliva and ribbons of blood.

When their bodies separated he sighed in disappointment, but this was quickly replaced by the feeling of prodding at his hole. The feeling of intrusion as first one then two fingers pushed in. It always felt weird, the feeling going deep inside his belly. The fingers wriggled and scissored. When they hooked up it elicited a reaction in Danse that made the other man laugh.

The fingers withdrew. Grub grabbed Danse by the back of the head, urging him to sit up so his face was at his groin. He glanced up to see him looking expectantly. Well, he wasn’t one who liked to disappoint. He wrapped a hand around the base of his cock and gave the underside a long lick. Then he took the head into his mouth. Bobbing his head, he slowly swallowed down more each time he came down, until it hit the back of his throat and he almost gagged. Grub lightly pulled the hair on the back of his head, telling him to pull away.

Grub positioned his now slick cock at his entrance and slowly, carefully pushed himself in. The burn of the stretch was outweighed by the pleasant feeling of fullness. He gave a few slow short thrusts to test the waters. Danse gave him a nod that, yes, he’s ready. His thrusts began building up speed, depth, and force until he was full on pounding into him, his head buried between his neck and shoulder and Danse holding on for dear life, the air in his lungs being forced out of him with every thrust.

Then the biting started. Teeth were being dug into the flesh of his trapezius until he felt heat dripping down the back of his neck. Still they went further and the pressure of his jaws increased. Danse could only gasp in a mix of shock and pleasure. As Grub now began to yank his head back in forth like a dog tearing away meat, it did hurt, but like it was like scratching an itch. It was that deep down good feeling of sweetness and ache that one gets in their core. It was perfect. All he could do was grab the back of his head to hold him there as he chewed. More. More. He swallowed and bit down again. His skin was getting so sticky. He felt himself being torn apart. Grub swallowed him and licked the new holes. He wiggled his tongue inside his flesh and it felt so sweet. He was losing his damn mind.

Grub brought his head away and he could see the blood dripping down his face, down his chest, that feral look in his eyes. Danse’s eyes were watering. He was hot and wet all over and God, so full, and it hurt but it didn’t. Grub took his forearm and bit into it. Blood dripped down onto his stomach and neglected cock, still throbbing hard, leaking all over him. He could swear he heard his skin breaking, popping open. He must taste so good.

“Can I try some?”

Grub still had some meat in his mouth. He leaned down and kissed him, so sweet and slick. Their lips parted and Danse chewed on his own flesh. He was squishy and coppery tasting in his mouth. He swallowed.

Like parting curtains, fingers dug into Danse’s abdomen. Nails tearing through skin and flesh, blood bubbling up. A hole straight to his guts was opened. He couldn’t help but watch, moaning and whimpering. Grub wriggled his fingers through his intestines, with squelching and churning sounds. This was the sweetest sensation yet. He could feel the his climax building. He was a mess, panting out “More, more”. The other man grabbed his hip with one hand for leverage, the other hand wrist-deep in his guts, pounding away hard fast and rough. Grub dragged out loops of intestine. It was blinding, he was going fucking crazy.

He shot ropes of cum over his innards, and it was pure ecstasy.

 

***

 

Danse shot up in his bed, damp with cold sweat and panting with a dark splotch on his tented underwear. He immediately started patting down his stomach, his arm, where his shoulder and neck met. They all still tingled from the dream. Just a dream. That’s all that was.

“What the fuck.”

Why did his mind have to come up with such disturbing things? He sat with his knees to his chest. Why did he have to be like this? He felt like crying, but nothing came other than a deep hollow feeling.

He mopped up the cum from his thigh and put on exercise clothes. He was wide awake now and his bed was soaked and cold. He felt like taking some punishment in the way of an early morning workout. Bracing himself, he jogged outside for a lap around Sanctuary.


	2. Skull Fuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I… I want you to bust my head open.” He panted and swallowed snot and blood. “I want you to fuck my brains out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok this chapter's real nasty. It's gonna get worse before it gets better.

“You see them?” Danse asked.

“Yeah.”

“Can I see?”

Grub passed the binoculars to Danse. In that split second, their fingers brushed, and he felt a shock of something shoot up his arm. He raised the binoculars to his eyes. There they were, at the bottom of the hill, past the brambles. The raiders they had been sent out to get rid of. He could count six of them.

“How many did you see?”

“Si-six.”

“Good. Me too.”

Why was it he was being taken out to do these chores all the time lately? The ghoul must have been too high or drunk to do this with Grub instead. Typical. It’s not like he could just say no, anyway. The man ran his life now.

“Do thi- do you think we can just uh… Ask them to l-leave?”

“I don’t think that will work. That has literally never worked.”

“I just feel bad. I used to be like that. I’d still be raiding if I didn’t uh… Well… A lot hap… Happened.”

An ex-raider. Another reason why he felt sick around him.

“I wanna try.”

“You’ll end up dead.”

He didn’t know why he even cared enough to warn him again, or even the first time.

“Aw! I’ll be fine! Stand back with your gun aimed, though.”

Grub lead the way down the hill. Danse kept to the bushes and behind trees as he crept behind. The other man made little attempt to stay hidden. He really was going to try to have a conversation, wasn’t he. Grub pushed out past the cover and over the remaining distance to the raider camp.

“Hey guys! Ho-how are ya?” He got that much out before a bullet hit the dirt next to his boots.

“Aw c’mon!”

Another bullet whizzed past his head.

“Are you kidding me?”

Danse already had his gun trained on one of the raiders, and now he squeezed the trigger. Crack! She falls dead. Grub fished through his pockets for his brass knuckles.

“I didn’t want it to end like this.”

Danse emerged from the bushes as Grub rushed toward the nearest raider. He swung his fist up into the man’s jaw. Dark red sludge and at least one tooth slid out of his mouth as he fell over. Danse could hear the wet crunch as Grub slammed a metal plated boot down on his head.

Danse aimed at another head and pulled the trigger. He missed his head and hit the raider’s chest instead. He pulled again and hit his neck. He gurgled and hot red jets of blood rocketed out, painting the side of the tent. Too messy.

He heard Grub grunting behind him and a snap and a shrill shriek. He spun around. A raider still slung over Grub’s back, arm wrapped around under his chin, his other hand in Grub’s massive grip, one finger bent completely back. A switchblade lay at his feet. Grub started bending back the raider’s middle finger.

“Just let go and I’ll-I’ll stop!”

It wasn’t until Danse heard another crack of bone that the raider weakened his grip and slumped down off his back, wailing. Grub left him there cradling his hand.

Danse shot him in the head.

“What’d you do that for?!”

He didn’t respond. Grub was soon distracted by another raider, anyway. One fist thudded heavily into her gut. Bile spilled over his arm. Grub attempted to shake the vomit off his sleeve.

“Are you- are you done now?”

“Fuck you.”

She coughed and tried swinging the machete at his shins.

“Hey! No!”

He swung his leg and his boot connected with the side of the raider’s head.

Danse’s armor deflected a shot. He spun around and trained his rifle on the offender. The last known raider of the group. He was backing away. Grub put a hand on the barrel.

“Maybe he’s scared eno-enough to talk to?” Grub pushed the gun down and hollered. “Hey! Can we talk?”

A bullet hit his metal chest plate and it felt like a punch to the solar plexus.

“You gotta be shitting me.” He wheezed out.

Danse brought up his gun again. The young man was running now. He had his back in his sights.

“Don’t shoot.”

Grub was hunched over, hands on knees, one finger up at Danse in a “One second please” gesture. Danse was already aiming again while Grub straighten himself.

And then he shot out after him. The raider had a head start, sure, but Grub had longer, faster legs. It was a competition of who could better avoid tripping over the plants and rocks in the way at this point. Danse dropped the tip of his rifle and jogged as much as his power armor would allow to follow.

Within a minute or so of the chase Grub was just barely out of arm’s reach. He grasped forward, hoping to grab the back of his shirt, but his hand just wasn’t quite getting there. He threw his weight forward, closing the distance and tackling him to the ground. The two men were in a tussle in the leaves as Danse finally caught up.

“Why. Can’t. We. Just. Talk?!”

He wrestled both them back onto their feet, both hand pressed firmly against either side of his face. He lifted him by his head until his toes dangled over the ground. He shook him this way and that, growling in frustration.

“I’ll talk! I’ll talk!” His speech was muffled by the way his face was squished between his massive hands.

Grub dropped him, face fuming mad.

“I didn’t want all your friends dead! I just-- I just wanted you to-- HEY!”

The raider had drawn his pistol again, barrel pointing right into a gap in Grub’s armor. He pulled the trigger, resulting in an empty click.

“Well, fuck.”

Danse could see something go over Grub’s eyes in that moment. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and violently threw him down and jumped onto him. Metal reinforced fists pounded into his face, sickening crunch after sickening crunch, each one sending a shock through Danse’s belly.

Grub’s face had that feral look again. Drool bubbled down his chin. The kid wasn’t moving anymore. There was hardly a face left, but he kept just hitting and hitting. Something in the way he was going on told him he just wasn’t there anymore. Danse stood there dumbly. Should he pry him away? The kid’s head was nothing but red mush and bone shards now.

Danse started yelling his name. He didn’t want to hit him. He came around to behind the man and struggled to pull him up in a sort of bear hug with both arms pinned to his sides. While tense, the man gave little resistance while held.

“Come on back.” He kept repeating it like a mantra. He didn’t know much else what to say.

It felt like five minutes had passed before Grub did anything else.

“I got stuck again, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

Danse carefully dropped him back down to his feet.

“I can’t belk-believe this happened again.”

“Let’s shoot first and ask questions later from now on.” He had no idea how to comment on what had just happened.

“I guess.”

Grub dusted off his knees.

“Well, let-let’s see what we can get out of them n-now.”

 

***

 

This isn’t the first time he’s done this thinking about Grub. It felt wrong every time, that wave of disgust in his stomach rising, but it just felt so satisfying. Since that dream he couldn’t keep his mind off of things like this for long. He’d tried distracting himself with exercise, which worked for a while until it started only winding himself up more. He’d tried busying his hands by taking apart, cleaning, reassembling, and repeating until there was nothing left in his head. Once he tried physically punishing himself, pounding himself in the gut with his own fist until he ached, but that just turned the screw in deeper. He always returned to his sickening thoughts, and he always felt like a dog eating his own vomit. It was wrong to want these things, to think of someone he owed so much to yet hated like this.

When he gave in, he was as secretive as possible. He only did it when everyone else was asleep. He always locked up his shack at night, but on those nights he obsessively checked the locks. He couldn’t make a sound. No one should know about this.

After taking down those raiders, the biggest thought on his mind was on those fists that man had. Big rough and dirty, his spiked brass knuckles caked with old and new blood and hair and meat. The strong back and arms that propelled them, as well. Fighting with fists alone is such a dangerous and inefficient way of fighting, and on principle he thought it was uncivilized. But watching him down raider after raider with those fists gave him an itch that he couldn’t wish away.

So there he was, laying on his mattress. Only the chirping of insects and the babbling of the nearby stream could be heard. His palm laid over the front of his boxers, slowly rubbing himself through them. He had to think.

_They would be somewhere away from everyone else. On a clean up job or supply run. It doesn’t matter. It just had to be somewhere among the rocks and trees where no one would see them. No armor. He would be on his hands and knees at Grub’s feet. Groveling. Licking the toe of one of his boots. They’re caked with layers of mud and blood._ He can imagine the taste of dirt iron and leather, feel the roughness on his tongue.

_“Pathetic thing. You like this don’t you?”_

_The man’s speech is sharper, more organized here than it really is. Not a single stutter or word out of place._

_He does like this, in a way. It’s degrading but he’s earned it. Little by little, layer by layer, he wears down the grime. He gags on some human hair that clung to the side. The man just laughs._

_The boot he’s been licking lifts up and presses down on the top of his head. Slow, firm pressure grinding down._

_“Don’t forget the soles, synth.”_

_He would hesitate, looking up at the bottom of his foot tentatively. The boot comes down on his face in a smearing motion. He sticks his tongue out and tries giving it a good long lick. He starts slathering the rubber, tongue working into the grooves._

_“You’re such a sad thing, aren’t you? First time I saw you you were crying over your gun.”_

_Grub works the toe of his boot into his mouth. He tries to accommodate, bewildered._

_“You know why I keep you around, right?”_

Danse’s throat tightened thinking about this.

_“Because it’s just so fucking funny.”_

_The boot shoves forward, toppling him onto his back. The man steps in between his legs._

_“Fucking really?”_

_The heel of his boot presses down on his obvious erection. The harsh pressure flutters up through his belly. His face is red hot._

_He looks up at the other man’s face. All the thin scars and bruises across pale skin. Shadowed blue eyes he couldn’t look into for more than a second. He smirks at him. The heel grinds into him and he groans._

_“How much do you like this?”_

_The words catch in his throat. The boot jolts down._

_“I like it a lot, sir!” he yelps._

_“What do you want me to do to you, little worm?”_

_A bead of sweat rolls down the groove of his back. He feels so hot._ He really does feel hot as his hand works up and down, a little faster now. _The words stay in his mouth and he stutters dumbly for a moment._

_“I want you to hit me.” he finally manages._

_The man laughs. The boot lifts up and slams back down on his gut. He feels the burst of pain but it’s not enough._

_“On your feet, synth.”_

_Grub goes into his pockets and pulls out his plain brass knuckles. He swallows nervously as he watched him slide his fingers through the holes and close his fists. His belly tightens._

_The first fist lands in his solar plexus. The wind is knocked right out of him. The next sends the contents of his stomach onto the ground. He tastes hot acid and remnants of food. Another fist lands with a Crack! into his cheekbone. He stumbles back and instinctively cradles his face._

_“You like this?”_

_“Please… Harder.”_

_He’s hit square in the mouth. His mouth floods with hot copper and his probing tongue feels loose teeth and shards floating in the liquid. He spits it out onto the pile of vomit at his feet._

_Grub grabs him by the hair, yanking him close. Another cracking pain. He feels warm blood trickle down his face. Another. He can’t see out one eye and the other is blinking away blood. This is perfect. Just what he’s been needing. He reaches for the man’s zipper._

_“Please…”_

_He unbuttons and unzips his pants. The man pushes his head closer. He runs his tongue over the holes where his teeth were. His knees must be in the puddle of his sick. He pulls down the man’s underwear, freeing his cock. It was only half-hard still. He licked it from head to base, leaving a trail of saliva ribboned with blood. He opened his mouth and took it in. He worked and swirling his tongue around it. He could feel it engorge in his mouth. He didn’t want to swallow too much of his own blood so he let it drool out of his mouth around the cock._

Danse was breathing heavily now, carefully through his nose to avoid making too much noise. Sweat beaded up along his hairline. He tried to choke back his moans, resulting in an occasional “Nnk” sound in the back of his throat.

_Two hands covered the sides of his face. Grub’s cock began to slowly slide back and forth in his mouth. He moaned around him, and the man’s cock moved faster in and out. Danse put his hands on his hips, hoping to have some control here. He wanted him to move harder, faster. Really fuck his face._

_He  moved to meet with his thrusts. He gagged a couple times but he got better at keeping his throat open over time. Soon he barely gagged at all even when he hit the back of his throat over and over. Tears stung his eyes but it didn’t feel bad. This is what he should be used for. This was right._

_The hands around his head pulled his head back on forth on his cock forcefully. Grub groaned and growled and panted like an animal. Danse had trouble breathing through his busted nose and his jaw ached and it felt so right and good. He felt like he could be used like this forever._

_He didn’t want it to finish like this, though. He felt like the other man was getting too close to cumming and he had to stop it. He gripped his trousers and pulled his head away. Thankfully he got the message and pulled him off his cock._

_“What is it?”_

_“I… I want you to bust my head open.” He panted and swallowed snot and blood. “I want you to fuck my brains out.”_

_The man grinned down at him sadistically and yanked his hair. The first blow hit hard. That knocked him down. Another. Then another. He could hear his skull crunching. He’s never been this hard. His cock was drooling in his suit. The blows felt and sounded wet now. Vision turning black, pulling out of his body. He could see both of them from the outside now. He was no longer trapped in a body he hated so much. Just a voyeur._

_Grub dug his fingers into the wet pit in his skull, squelching around as he pulled out shards of bone. A new hole sufficiently cleared, he slapped his cock against the rim. Teasing, as if he knew Danse was still watching._

_The man growled as his member plunged into sucking heat of his brain matter, creating a new canal. His cock stirred his brains into a slurry as he thrust in and out, some dribbling over his ear as he bottomed out._

God he was close. He tensed and flexed his legs as he sat on the edge, trying to hold back. He held his breath, desperately trying to stay quiet.

_He slammed his head back down to the base of his cock one last time, letting out a strangled groan through gritted teeth. He stood there panting for a while, grinding his skull into himself, riding out his orgasm._

There. He was there. His back arched off the bed, muscles straining, he shot over his abs, over his pecs, up to his neck. He continued holding his breath, head light, as he tried holding back his voice. A choked “ehn” came out regardless.

_Finished, Grub pulled out. Cum mixed with everything that Danse was spilled out. He wiped the bloody gunk off his spent cock onto his black hair, and tucked himself back into his pants. Grub would sling his body over his shoulder and take him to be butchered like all the others._

The sweat and cum on his body was cooling by the time he came back to Earth. Guilt arced through his heart as he mopped up his torso with a scrap of cloth. He really shouldn’t be thinking these things. Not of Grub. The man saves him, takes him in despite all the reasons not to, and he thinks of him this way? Miserable. Just miserable.

Why was he like this?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm honestly surprised the Fallout fandom doesn't have more fic that deals with the fact you can totally be a cannibal in the game. Anyway, the sex is written differently than how I would otherwise write it because it's all a dream. So please don't come at me about how spit's not a proper lube; I know.


End file.
